


Combusting Dreams

by ToySurgeon



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-23 23:14:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21328258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToySurgeon/pseuds/ToySurgeon
Summary: Pyro has a nightmare, and the agony isn't necessarily tolerable.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	Combusting Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> I don't like this very much, but I'm gonna post it nonetheless because of my friends wanting to read it. Plus, I wanna share some of my writing and hope I can get better at literature and all that.

Pyro awoke to the feeling of growing torridity, lying in bed, drowning in his thoughts. Should he go check it out? No, it's late. Should he check the time? No, he'll just fall back asleep, the time was irrelevant. Everything seemed boring anyway, everything was dark and all he could see was a solid gray, a gray fog similarly roaming in his brain.

Then the hot feeling began to hurt, crawling onto his skin becoming more and more noticeable and intolerable. This genuinely confused him, making him sit up in puzzlement. Then he saw it, or the lack of what was there, his flamethrower had been misplaced. It took a second for it all to click. The strong warmth, the smoky smell he had just now picked up, the missing of his flamethrower. This made the feeling of panic set in, causing Pyro to leap out of bed and skid to the door of his room, opening it violently only to feel the crawling warmth on his body becoming an excruciating fiery pain eating away at his clothing.

Then it all just seemed very straightforward to him. There was a fire in the base, a large one. In the base was also his fellow teammates. His teammates that lacked fire-resistant clothing, unlike him. The realization hit him like a brick to the stomach, paining him. He didn't think to put on his mercenary clothing, the only thing he quickly affixed was his gas mask, which he always went out with. After it was secured on his head, he took no time to run out the door where his friends were in fires. No, they're fine. The fire's gonna die out and they're gonna be fine, they're gonna laugh about the fact that Engie and definitely some others have so much work to do for fixing up the now charred base. It's gonna be okay, they're all gonna be okay, and that was a promise Pyro kept to himself, but somewhere deep down he knew it was a promise he knew that he might not be able to keep.

The attempt to calm himself with positivity started a wave of sudden hallucinations, the fires replacing themselves with rainbows, the flame-scarred walls and floor were now made of thin licorice sticks. Pyro shook his head, continuing to run, he couldn't allow this to restrain him from saving his comrades. The feeling of eating fire was starting to replace itself with a happy feeling that the masked man couldn't quite put into words. He started hitting his head against the licorice floor, trying to make the hallucinations go away. He needed to save his friends, he felt so worthless at that moment because of something that wasn't in his control. At the eleventh shove of his head against the candy floor, he started to feel pain again, and it made him smile like he never had before. He looked up from the ground to see a crack on one of the mask's lenses; it was long but thin; nothing he couldn't tolerate.

He pushed himself up from the hard floor, seeing the burning flames again, and he didn't take a millisecond of time to spare, he started running again, and his only hope was to see someone. Someone else, he didn't care who it was. He just wanted to see someone, something, that didn't glow a bright orange. The feeling of fear, panic, and hope made him break down immediately. Then and there, in the middle of a burning hallway, lied the Pyro, whose skin was being scarred by flames. They were engulfing him by the second, and all he wanted to see was someone for his last seconds of living. Even if the sight would be blurred by his clouded lenses from the tears he had shed over the incident. Unfortunately, his last sight before the flames ate him alive was bright orange, turning to white, nearly blinding him, and all he could do was scream in pure agony. For a solid ten seconds, all he could feel was the blazing combustion, the mental and physical pain, the tears that were fading away from the heat, and then nothing. It was all black.

“God, no, please, make it stop!" Pyro shot up in bed, cold sweat covering his entire body, tears running down his cheeks as if it was a race, and his loud panting and heartbeat were the only things he could hear besides a slight ringing in the distance. He immediately darted out of bed, checking the outside of his room, not bothering for his mask or clothes, seeing that everything was fine. In fact, he heard some talking and laughter in the distance. He stood there for a second, processing it all. The fact that what he had seen was all just a silly nightmare made a feeling of relief and joy wash over him, but he couldn't stop sobbing.

He grabbed a pillow, cried into it, even screamed. It was all too traumatic and realistic for him to condone. After his little breakdown, he grabbed his mask, his clothes, and walked out the door as if nothing had happened, planning to greet the other mercenaries as soon as they came into his vision.

This kind of thing happened about every two weeks, and he still wasn't used to it.


End file.
